


This Flame that Burns Inside of Me

by Haydenn11



Series: Good Omens Greatest Hits [16]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), Crowley Has PTSD (Good Omens), Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens), Fluff, Light Angst, Love Confessions, M/M, Post-Almost Apocalypse (Good Omens), Song: A Kind of Magic, Songfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-08
Updated: 2021-03-08
Packaged: 2021-03-14 12:21:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,471
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29916831
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Haydenn11/pseuds/Haydenn11
Summary: 16. A Kind of MagicThe Bentley’s tires screeched as he pulled away from the curb outside his apartment. The floored it all the way to the bookshop, parked illegally, and practically threw himself through the front doors. The smell of smoke filled his nostrils as soon as he was inside.“Aziraphale!” Crowley shouted, panic sinking through him like a lead balloon, “Aziraphale! Where in Heaven are you, you idiot!”Crowley's heart raced as he tore through the bookshop. He didn’t find Aziraphale in the back room or among any of the shelves. There were no flames, but the smell of smoke was unmistakable.“Aziraphale! For Someone's sake, where are you? I can’t find you.”
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: Good Omens Greatest Hits [16]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2069535
Comments: 4
Kudos: 24





	This Flame that Burns Inside of Me

**Author's Note:**

> As promised, I was nice to Crowley this week. No discorporation, just fluff and kisses. Light angst, but mostly fluff. 
> 
> A Kind of Magic was written for the movie Highlander. The title of the song comes from a line said by the main character, an immortal, as an explanation for why he didn't die after being shot. I took that as inspiration for this fic. Crowley is still processing the fact that he thought Aziraphale was dead. 
> 
> As always, I hope you enjoy reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it. Comments and feedback are always appreciated.

[ A Kind of Magic by Queen ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0p_1QSUsbsM&ab_channel=QueenOfficial)

* * *

I t happened one day while they were in the bookshop. Crowley was sitting on the couch in the backroom scrolling through his phone, while Aziraphale took inventory of the newly restored bookshop. The dying rays of Soho sun streamed through the bookshop windows. Floating dust motes seemed to glitter in the golden light. Crowley looked up just in time to see Aziraphale step into one of the golden beams and his breath caught in his throat. 

The light bathed Aziraphale in a golden glow. It lit up his hair like a halo. The dust motes around him were an ethereal aura of light and love and warmth. Crowley was struck by the sheer miracle of him. The fact that his angel was alive and well still felt impossible to him most days. Crowley sometimes worried that he would wake up one day to find that everything since the didn’t end was all just a very pleasant dream. He had put off sleeping just in case it was, but here was the proof that it wasn’t. His angel was a dream made flesh, bathed in a light, like a pot of gold at the end of the rainbow. 

Crowley’s throat felt tight. His eyes stung with hot tears. He couldn’t believe he had almost lost the perfect being that was Aziraphale. An alarm bell chimed in the back of his mind at that thought, reminding him that Aziraphale wasn’t a given. 

All the terror at having almost lost his angel that Crowley had been actively  _ not _ feeling for weeks rose up inside of him. Long though their lives might be, it was still possible to lose him forever. The alarm in his head begged him to grab the angel, curl around him like a constrictor and never let go again.. 

“Dear? Are you quite alright?” Aziraphale looked at him with a cocked head and furrowed brow. 

“Yeah,” Crowley responded, thankful for his dark glasses hiding the tearfilled eyes, “Why do you ask?”

“You looked a little punch-drunk, is all.”

“Oh, yeah, um, just dozed off for a second.”

“If you’re tired you can always nap on the couch.” Aziraphale resumed his reshelving. “Or, we could retire to your apartment? Order take out? Put on a film?”

“You want to come over and watch a movie?”

“Only if you do, my dear. I only thought it might be more entertaining for you than watching me reshelve books. But, I understand if you’d rather sleep. I don’t think you’ve napped since the bus ride home from Tadfield.”

“Ngk.” How had Aziraphale picked up on the fact that he hadn’t been sleeping? “No, I’m not that tired. I’d rather watch a movie.”

They stopped to pick up takeout on their way back to Crowley’s apartment. In the kitchen, Aziraphale busied himself with dishing up their curries and pouring them wine. Crowley sat at his massive kitchen island and watched the angel float around his apartment like he lived there. 

The tight feeling crept back into his throat. His chest ached at the way Azriaphale seemed completely at ease here. As if he belonged in Crowley’s apartment, in Crowley’s life. The alarm bell rang in head again, and for one terrifying instant he could smell smoke and see flames again. His racing heart urged him to speak up and ask Aziraphale to stay here forever where he belonged, where he was safe, and never leave him again. 

Crowley mastered himself before an excess of love and fear could tumble out of his mouth. It would be too fast and the last thing he wanted was to spook Aziraphale into not speaking to him for decades. He couldn’t bear losing the angel for any amount of time now, so he would wait. He would be content to wait for Aziraphale, even if the waiting was eternity. 

They settled on the couch after dinner. Crowley turned on  _ Highlander _ and to his surprise Aziraphale didn’t complain. Usually he made faces at anything more modern than Charlie Chaplin, but instead he nestled into the couch and watched the movie with the same focus he might devote to a mildly interesting movel. 

On the screen, Connor McLeod saved Rachel and was shot in the process. “Hey, it’s a kind of magic,” McLeod responded to Rachel’s shock that he was still alive. Crowley drew his knees up to his chest, folded his arms across them, and rested his head on top of his arms. He snuck a glance at Aziraphale. Crowley was still reeling from the overload of emotions he’d felt in the bookshop and again in his kitchen. He felt the need to look over at Aziraphale periodically to make sure he was still real. It was a kind of magic that he and Aziraphale were still alive, too. 

Crowley woke up to a facefull of soft tartan fabric with no memory of falling asleep. He was still on his couch and someone, Aziraphale, had draped a fluffy, cream and gold tartan blanket over him. He sat up and looked around the apartment for some sign of where the angel had gotten to. A note in Aziraphale’s near script rested on the coffee table. 

_ Dearest,  _

_ You fell asleep. I would have stayed, but given your tendency to sleep for weeks at a time, I thought it might be best to return to the shop and finish inventory. Come find me when you wake up.  _

_ Yours,  _

_ A. _

Crowley stared open-mouthed at the words  _ dearest _ and  _ yours _ for a very long time before it occurred to him that he should get up and do as Aziraphale bid. He checked his phone and balked at the date. He’d been asleep for almost a month. 

The Bentley’s tires screeched as he pulled away from the curb outside his apartment. The floored it all the way to the bookshop, parked illegally, and practically threw himself through the front doors. The smell of smoke filled his nostrils as soon as he was inside. 

“Aziraphale!” Crowley shouted, panic sinking through him like a lead balloon, “Aziraphale! Where in Heaven are you, you idiot!” 

Crowley's heart raced as he tore through the bookshop. He didn’t find Aziraphale in the back room or among any of the shelves. There were no flames, but the smell of smoke was unmistakable.

“Aziraphale! For Someone's sake, where are you? I can’t find you.” His breath came in ragged gasps. He tore at his hair and looked frantically around the empty bookshop. His brain seemed to short circuit. He had no idea what to do next and was completely incapable of calm, rational thought.

“Crowley, dear? Is that you? Why are you shouting?” A voice floated down from the upper levels of the bookshop and Crowley spun around in time to see Aziraphale descending the stairs with a cup of tea and a plate of toast in hand. 

“Angel.” Crowley sighed with relief.

“Crowley, are you alright, my dear?”

Crowley put his head in his hands and took a deep, steading breath, “I smelled smoke.” 

“Yes, I was making toast. Got distracted, burned it on accident.” Aziraphale explained, sounding utterly bewildered, “Dearest, are you sure your qui–”

Crowley closed the distance between them in three steps and drowned the angel’s question with a kiss. Aziraphale responded with enthusiasm. He dropped his tea and toast, snapping his fingers to miracle them safely onto his desk before they actually hit the ground, before tangling his fingers in Crowley’s hair. His lips parted and moved with Crowley’s. His tongue darted out and ran along Crowley’s bottom lip. 

After what felt like several minutes, but could possibly have been several sunlit days, they broke apart. Crowley didn’t retreat fully, however, he kept his hands clutching Aziraphale lapels and rested his head against the angel’s shoulder. 

“I thought I lost you again.” He murmured into the fabric of Aziraphale’s coat. 

“I’m here.” Aziraphale’s voice was soft in his ear and his fingers ran soothingly through his hair. 

Crowley pulled back and cupped Aziraphale’s face with both hands. “I love you, angel. I’m sorry if that’s too fast, but I can’t keep it to myself, not anymore. I thought I lost you.”

“My dear,” Aziraphale pressed a soft kiss to his lips. “I’d never want you to keep that to yourself. Ever. And the feeling is entirely mutual.”

Aziraphale brought their lips together again and Crowley deepened the kiss. The alarm bells in his head were quiet at last, finally convinced that Aziraphale wasn’t going anywhere. How could he be, when Crowley could feel the realness of his beneath his lips. Kissing Aziraphale, Crowley thought, was unfairly powerful. The feel of soft lips on his instantly eradicated every fear or doubt he’d ever had. It was magic, the very best kind of magic. 


End file.
